The Mirror Image Affair
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Slender, skilled, blond, there's a cat burglar on the prowl in New York and Napoleon is afraid he know who it is.


He whistled softly as he approached the window. With a practiced eye, he scanned the frame for any trip wires. Finding one, he traced it to its source and smiled slightly. Someday, someone was going to design a burglar alarm he couldn't disarm, but it wasn't going to be any time soon.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small device of his own making. He clamped it onto the wires at their base and two small lights, green and red, lit. Then, holding the tiny flashlight between his teeth, he carefully followed the wires and clipped one. The green light held steady while the red light flashed off.

He tucked the flashlight back into his pocket and proceeded to jimmy the window. He didn't need much space to slip in. Back in school, his classmates used to tease him and call him terrible things because of his size. He thought things couldn't get worse, then came the Navy and he discovered he'd thought wrong. Those men were worse, much worse and some of them got a twisted idea that he walked on the other side of the fence. He put them right quickly.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He needed to concentrate upon his task. Quietly, he moved through the study and went directly to the safe. He'd been studying the layout for days and knew what he was looking for.

Movement flashed in the corner of his eye and he froze, then relaxed. It was a mirror, just a mirror. He paused for a moment to tuck some stray blond hair back under his watchcap and continued on.

Talking the picture off the wall, he smiled at the safe.

"Hello, Beautiful," he whispered, just in case anyone was close.

It took him a few moments to crack the safe. All his training had certainly paid off when it mattered. He left the cash and went straight for the jewels and bonds. He knew from his homework that the bills were marked. He checked the date of the bonds and grinned. Those would do well for his retirement, provided he lived long enough for that.

They thought they were so clever, too bad he was smarter. He closed the safe, rehung the picture and headed for the window, pausing to look back in the room. With any luck, it would be hours, if not days before his thievery was detected.

Back out through the window, he closed it and carefully reconnected the snipped wire. The red light flashed on and he unclipped the device.

Black upon black, he slipped back into the shadows, the jewels a comfortable weight in his pocket. It was good to have a hobby. Every man should have one.

####

Napoleon Solo pulled his dressing gown tie a bit tighter and stared out his living room window at the city. He was often so busy, he rarely stopped to see the beauty of it. People raced from Point A to Point B and a lot of the time, it was thanks to him and men like him.

And now one of those men was in trouble. Most enforcement agents playing their hand fairly close to their chest, mostly out of habit. Expose your cards and you might give your enemy that little key that would lead to your downfall. Illya, on the other hand, held his cards so close that no one saw them, not even himself.

For the last two months, Napoleon had watched Illya slowly start to crumble around the edges. They all failed an assignment every once in a while, but Illya was beating himself up for it. Then there was the death of an Innocent, not their fault, but Illya still held himself to blame. Had he been faster, smarter, or more insightful, he felt the man would have been saved. The fact that the man left the safe house, escaped his tail and confronted the THRUSH agents on his own was no never mind.

Napoleon had given Illya some time, even cajoled him into a couple of days off, only to find that Illya had come back in and spend the time on the gun range and gym. Napoleon threatened and he argued, but to no avail. It was time to take it to Waverly.

Napoleon knew Waverly was aware of the issue. There wasn't anything that happened within the organization that Waverly didn't know about. Napoleon was being tested as much as Illya was being watched. What he did now would foreshadow his actions when he took over the Big Chair. How would he do to prevent his partner and best friend, in short, having a nervous breakdown?

With a sigh, Napoleon let the curtain fall into place and headed to bed. Perhaps asleep the answer would come to him.

####

He whistled softly, his brain still twisting and writhing in pleasure from his night's activities. He nearly skipped down the stone steps to the tailor shop.

"Good morning, Del," he said to the man behind the counter.

Del Floria paused in the pressing of a pair of trouser to offer the man a grin. "Good morning, Mr. Kuryakin. You look extraordinarily pleased with yourself today. Love of a good woman?"

Illya laughed at the comment. "Something like that."

He walked into a booth and triggered the coat hook. Instantly he was transported into UNCLE's reception area. The people there already knew he was coming. Even so, Ben Taylor's hand eased close to his weapon.

"Morning, Ben." He nodded to him.

"More like evening, you mean, Illya." Ben turned his reach into a stretch and yawned.

"Got you stuck on the night shift this month?"

"Jackson's wife had a baby, so he's with them."

Illya leaned forward to permit the receptionist to pin on his badge. Usually he was in too much of a hurry to have someone fumbling with his lapel, but not today. Today he felt too good.

"That's a very nice perfume you are wearing, Miss Henson."

The woman blushed just a bit. "Thank you, Mr. Kuryakin. It's called The Devil's Will."

"Clever name." He grinned and headed for the elevators.

Behind him, he heard Taylor murmur, "Who was that and what has he done with Mr. Kuryakin?"

He laughed and stepped into the elevator. He hesitated for a moment. Usually he headed straight for his office, but instead he hit another button. Nothing was going to ruin his mood today.

####

Had he tarried a moment longer, he would have run into a grim-faced Napoleon Solo.

"Wow, it's like you two have swapped places," Taylor said as he relaxed back into his seat on the bench.

"Pardon me?" Napoleon took the badge from Miss Henson and clipped it on.

"Mr. Kuryakin just came in."

Napoleon checked his watch. It was an hour past Illya's usual time. "Illya? Now?"

"Yeah, late and with a big grin on his face."

"He even complimented my perfume," the young woman said, sighing. "And let me pin his badge on."

"What? Illya?"

"Uh huh." She looked dreamy –eyed.

"Any idea where he was headed?"

"Well, your offices are up and he headed down."

"The lab?" Napoleon wondered aloud.

"Or the canteen," Taylor suggested. "We all know how he likes to eat."

"Good thought. Thanks!"

As Napoleon approached the canteen, he heard laughter, which wasn't all that unusual. It was a bit early in the day for breakfast to his way of thinking, but UNCLE was a 24-hour operation. The canteen served breakfast, lunch, and dinner to accommodate everyone's schedules.

He entered, looked around and stopped dead in his tracks. At this time of the morning, there were usually a half dozen tables filled, but today, it seemed to be just one table with a dozen people crowded around it.

As Napoleon approached, he heard people laugh again and then his partner's voice.

"The furniture. Who hides stuff in the furniture? Worst of all, I sat on it while I was trying to figure out where they were hidden."

"Oh, no!" Ava, one of the typists, giggled. "What did you do?"

"You mean, besides panicking?"

There was more laughter, including Illya's. He looked up then and spotted Napoleon.

"Napoleon! Good morning." He stood and smiled at his co-workers. "Excuse me, I suspect it's time to get back to the salt mines."

There was a chorus of disappointed groans, but the crowd dispersed.

"Do I believe my eyes? You, holding court?"

"Me? Not at all. I was just having some coffee and chatting with friends." Napoleon made a face and reached across the table to press his hand against Illya's forehead. "What's that for?"

"Just seeing if you are feverish."

Illya laughed again. "I'm fine, but let me get you a cup of coffee. I owe you."

"You owe me? For what?"

"You told me to get a hobby. Best advice I've had in years."

####

He slowly eased his way across the ledge. Speed could take a man down at this moment and while one story wasn't that far to fall, he'd rather not have to explain any injuries the next morning.

He got to his target and studied the casement for any signs of wires. Nothing. That meant there was something else at play. Movement from within the shadows caught his eye and he carefully bent over to study the room more closely. Abruptly he was looking nose-to-snout with a dog.

"Why did it have to be a dog?" He straightened back up quickly at the threatening growl. "I really don't like you, either." He reached around for his pack and slowly unzipped it. He reached past his gun, though it was a momentary thought. Instead he groped around until his fingers found something soft and squishy. Happily the wrapping had kept the rest of his pack dry.

He pulled out the chunk of meat, eased the window open a scant inch and slipped the meat inside. The dog latched onto it and devoured it in two loud gulps, during which time the window was closed.

Now it was just a matter of time before the drug took effect and sent the dog into sleepy-bye doggie land.

Another piece of cake. Inside, he knew that the secret drawer in the desk held some very valuable documents, along with some easily disposed of bullion. He'd take both, although the documents, he'd give to an uninterested party. Who would look for a first generation manuscript at a thrift store?

He watched the dog pace from the door back to the window and shivered. The black turtleneck just wasn't doing the job tonight. He wrapped his arms around himself and thought of warm things, summer on the Black Sea shore with his family, the soft breeze of spring and the scent of cherry blossom from Japan or even the steamy jungles of the Amazon.

Suddenly a light flashed on and he held his breath. The dog woofed happily, some endearment was exchanged and the light went out. Soon after, so did the dog.

Excellent! Time to go to work.

####

"See? I told you this would happen if I let go. I knew what I was doing. This is your fault. They'll kill me now rather than risk what I know," Illya snarled at Napoleon as the KGB led him away towards the Aeroflot jet on the tarmac. "I was happy before. You did this to me! Why didn't you leave me alone!"

"Illya, I didn't mean. Please, listen." But Illya turned his back on his partner. "Illya! No, wait!" he shouted as armed soldiers exited from the plane and shot Illya.

"My death is your fault," Illya muttered as he collapsed.

Napoleon groaned and slowly blinked himself away. He got one eye focused on the ceiling and, groaning, he sat up. He untangled himself from the bedclothes and tried to shake the nightmare from his head. His pajamas reeked of sweat and he felt cold and clammy.

He managed to stand after only two attempts and staggered to the kitchen to make coffee. While it percolated, he headed to the bathroom. Shaving and a shower helped clear the cobwebs from his mind. He'd meant to have a night on the town with the new receptionist, but in the end, he just wasn't up to it. He'd taken a rain check and headed home.

For so long, he chided Illya in an attempt to get him to let go and loosen up a bit. Now Illya had done just that and Napoleon wasn't at all sure he liked the new Illya. He found himself missing his sullen, taciturn partner.

He dressed carefully, making sure that everything was just right, then went back to the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee and just stood there, inhaling its aroma. That first sip was like a nectar from the gods, bitter and hot, but soothing and nurturing. He sat and pick up last night's paper. He'd meant to read it, but had gotten… sidetracked.

A 48 point headline caught his eye – BLACK CAT STRIKES AGAIN! Frowning, he scanned down the page until he found the article. It said that they were in the midst of a rash of cat burglaries, many of them seemingly impossible to engineer. The thief had earned his nickname from the black clothes he always appeared in. Sadly, there were no shots of his face, but from what the police could deduce, the thief was slender and agile, much like a cat.

"Or one skilled Russian," Napoleon murmured. "I have you now, old son." Then he saw the time and groaned. He was nearly ninety minutes late, a delay that would be longer if there were any problem with the traffic.

He ran through Reception, barely taking time to grab his badge and raced to the Conference Room. Waverly was going to have his hide for missing their monthly meeting. Section Two always seemed to have the bulk of the reporting. He waited for the elevator doors to open just wide enough for him to wiggle out and he hurried down the corridor, straightening his tie and patting his hair as he moved.

Napoleon had nearly arrived when the Conference Room door opened and people began to spill into the corridor.

"This was good thinking, Napoleon," the head of Section Six said. "Now we know why you are in the running for the big chair."

"Thanks… I -"

"That really took nerves of steel. You are a better man than me." That was Douglas from Section Three. "I wish I'd thought of it, but I'd never have trusted my Number Two like that."

Seriously confused now, Napoleon fought the stream of unusually chatty people and peeked into the room.

Mr., Waverly was at the head of the table, shaking Illya's hand. The Russian cheeks were slightly flushed and he was smiling shyly.

"Well done, Mr. Kuryakin. I can see now that Mr. Solo has chosen wisely. When it is your time to take over Section Two, it will be in good hands."

Waverly turned and spied Napoleon. "Ah, Mr. Solo, a moment of your time, please."

"Just a moment," Illya said, scooping up a handful of paper. "Here are the notes you left for me last night, Napoleon. You thought of everything, thank you."

"Thank you. I'm glad everything worked out as we'd planned." Napoleon's voice was tight. He didn't know what Illya was playing at, but he was damn well going to find out.

Mr. Waverly watched as Illya hurriedly left the room and then turned his attention to Napoleon. "You seem ill at ease, Mr. Solo. I also have a feeling that this was not the planned outcome for this morning."

"Ah, no, sir. About that."

"I commend you for bringing Mr. Kuryakin from his shell. I suspect that everyone here was surprised in the change. I know it had been worrying you."

"Yes, sir, it had." How he knew was beyond Napoleon's grasp, but that was why Waverly was the man in charge.

"This also proves that I have chosen wisely for my future replacement. You are able and willing to do what it takes to get the job done." Waverly tapped the sheets Napoleon held with his glasses. "Now I recommend that you acquaint yourself with his notes and make sure he didn't overlook anything."

"I will, sir. Thank you."

He waited for Waverly's departure before flopping down in a nearby seat. This was maddening. He'd been trying to get Illya to take over the monthly meetings for a year now. Why this morning in particular?

Abruptly he stood up and headed for his office. It was time to get some straight answers from his partner, even if it meant tying him to a chair and torturing them out of him.

Napoleon straightened his tie and patted his hair. So much about Illya was throwing him off these days. The one thing he could fall back on was good grooming.

He waited for the door to slid open and entered, only to be hit by something square in the chest. He froze, then glanced down. A rubber band was lying at his feet.

Illya grinned at his partner. "If I wer a THRUSH agent, you'd be dead now."

"You're shooting rubber bands at me? What the hell are you playing at, Kuryakin?" he yelled. For his part, Napoleon was happy to see Illya suddenly so shocked.

"What? I was just-"

"Just what? What has gotten into you? I don't even know who you are anymore!"

"I didn't… I'm sorry about the rubber band."

"It's not the rubber band, Illya. It's everything. It's like you've become a completely different person." A trace of the old Illya flickered across the man's face and Napoleon wanted to celebrate. "What has caused this abrupt change?"

"I told you. I got a hobby. I thought this was what you wanted. "

Napoleon glanced down at the morning's paper spread out on Illya's desk. THE BLACK CAT AT LARGE blared from the front page. It took up nearly the entire front section, save a small bit in the bottom about some orchestra review, a suicide from the Brooklyn bridges and a celebration for some visiting diplomat. It was amazing that The Black Cat was willing to let even that much of the front page go. Illya followed Napoleon's stare and stepped in front of him, blocking his view.

"Hiding something?"

Illya was glib. "No. I was getting ready to clean my gun."

"I see. And nothing else?"

"What else could there be?"

"Just know this, Illya. I can't save you from everything. Some day you will get in so deep, even UNCLE won't be able to help." Napoleon spun and walked out. "And if you won't talk to me, perhaps you will be more forthcoming with Mr. Waverly."

###

Illya watched his partner, perhaps former partner, go. He was torn about running after him and explaining everything and doing nothing. After all, what he did in his free time was his affair. He looked down at the paper and worked his jaw. How could he not have seen? He'd been so careful up to now and to have betrayed himself so flamboyantly was both annoying and amateurish. Something like this could get him killed.

The phone rang and it was the head of Section Three.

"What can I do for you, Doug?"

"Illya, I was wondering if I could run next week's stake-out roster by you."

"Isn't that usually Napoleon's job?"

"Yeah, well, a couple of things you said at the meeting got me thinking and since you were there and he wasn't, I thought you might be the better choice."

"That's fair enough. When would you like to meet?"

"An hour in Conference Room 4?"

"Certainly."

He'd barely hung up the phone when it rang again. "Kuryakin."

"Ah, Illya, Marconi here. I was wondering if you'd have some time this afternoon to review some research we've done in the lab. I think a fresh pair of eyes would benefit it."

"Of course, Ian. Hope about after lunch?"

"I'll look forward to it. Thanks!"

Illya nodded and hung up the phone. He stared at it for a moment, daring it to ring again. It stayed silent, but there was a knock at the door. Illya took a deep breath. Apparently, he was falling victim to his own PR.

"Yes?"

Doctor Phillips entered, looking a bit worried as if Illya would fly at him like a wraith. Well, perhaps a few weeks ago, he would have.

"I was hoping we'd have some time to go over the results of your physical, Mr. Kuryakin."

For a moment, Illya considered sending him away, but this doctor was very persistent. Perhaps it would be best to just get it over with for good.

"Of course, Doctor. Take a seat."

"I just passed your partner in the corridor. Is he all right?"

"I have no idea, but he did look a bit under the weather." Illya smiled slightly. "Perhaps you should check him out. I wouldn't mind waiting for you to schedule something for him."

"Good idea. I'll be right back."

_And I won't be here,_ Illya thought, nodding. There were people to see, things to do. He glanced back down at the paper and smiled. Very interesting things to do.

Napoleon walked into his apartment and slammed the front door. He was angry and worse, he felt betrayed. It had taken him most of the afternoon to lose a very determined doctor. Something or someone had apparently told the doc he was in bad shape and needed an exam. Napoleon didn't have to think very hard as to who that person would be.

He walked directly to his wet bar and poured himself a Scotch. He took a swig, choked and coughed it down. It was a very direct reminder to calm himself. He took several deep breaths, set the glass aside and collapsed into an overstuffed chair.

He was honor bound to go to Waverly with his suspicions. He knew that, but at the same time, his soul cried for the loss of his partner. Illya had been the closest thing he had to a friend and the thought of losing him back to the USSR made Napoleon want to rage, scream, and deny his inner guilt. After all, he'd sent Illya into the belly of the beast just as sure as if he was standing right beside him.

The phone rang and Napoleon jumped at the sound. There weren't many people who had his number.

Upon the second ring, he answered it. "Solo here."

"Thank God, Napoleon." It was Illya. His voice seemed strained. "I was hoping you'd be home and not out carousing."

"What do you want, Illya?"

"Well, it's a little embarrassing. You see, you're my one call."

"Your what?"

"I've been arrested by Manhattan's finest. I need you to come and explain to these nice men that I am what I say I am."

For just a moment, the brief urge to hang up raced through Napoleon's mind, but he quickly squashed it as he would a bug. "Of course. Where are you?" Illya repeated the address to him and Napoleon jotted it down. "Okay. Hang tight. I will be right there."

It was amazing how quickly you can get across Manhattan with the proper incentive. He arrived at the police station and approached the front desk.

"Hello, I believe you have one of my men under arrest."

The desk sergeant looked skeptical. "And who might you be?"

Napoleon flipped open his ID. "Napoleon Solo of the UNCLE."

"Uncle? Oh, wait that's one of those international outfits, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, it is and you currently have my partner under arrest. Short blond fellow."

"He's not your partner. He's the Black Cat."

"Yes, well, we will have to see about that. Would you be willing to release him into my custody? I can assure you that UNCLE will see to his punishment if he is who you say he is."

"How do we know you will be good at your word?" A plainclothes man approached.

"Hey, Captain, he's a spy." The desk sergeant sounded genuinely pleased.

"Yes, so I heard, but they are often as thick as, dare I say, thieves?"

Napoleon sighed. "I know you are skeptical, Captain, but I can assure you that justice will be done."

The phone rang then and the desk sergeant answered it. "Uh, huh… okay, I understand. We are on our way." He cradled it and spoke directly to the captain.

"That was the 805 precinct, sir. There's been another robbery, this time of the head librarian of the Metropolitan. Apparently, he just came back from a concert and discovered a set of priceless manuscripts have been stolen. The captain there reckons it happened within the last hour."

Napoleon tried to hide his smile from the man as he sighed. "We have the wrong man." He looked up at Napoleon. "Your partner is free to go."

"Thank you."

Napoleon studied the pictures on the wall for a long few minutes until Illya appeared from the back. He was wearing his customary black suit and a matching turtleneck. "Are you ready to go, Poosycat?"

"Not funny, Napoleon."

"You're telling me. We have a long conversation ahead of us."

"Tonight?" Illya yawned widely, obviously not ready to confess anything.

"Right now."

He jimmied open the French doors and slipped inside. For a moment, he froze, the sense of being watched crawling up the back of his neck like a bug. Then he spotted his reflection in a mirror and took a calming breath. It was never good when that happened twice.

Last night had almost ended badly. He came very close to being caught and that was no good, but it was for a good cause. He's heard on the police radio that the Black Cat had been arrested. No one was stealing his spotlight. However, it was time to put an end to the ridiculous charade and go back to the real world. This would be his last hoorah and The Black Cat would retire just as quietly as he stared.

He sprayed the air with aerosol, looking for the invisible sensor beams that had nearly done him in last night. Nothing. No dogs, no alarms, no anything. This guy was just asking to be robbed.

He went to the safe and quickly opened it. He lifted out a sparkling necklace and grinned. This would make those long Russian nights quite comfortable.

Then the lights flashed on and he froze. Carefully he turned upon rubbery legs and nearly collapsed at the sight of who stood there.

"Illyusha! What are you doing here?" Then he noticed the gun. "Illya? Cousin?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Yuri." For a moment, the gun held firm, then lowered. "What are you doing here?"

Yuri gestured with the jewels he held. "Pretty obvious, I think."

"I got arrested, you know? They thought I was you."

Looking at both of them in the mirror, Yuri nodded. "We do have the same structure and height, but I am much more handsome." Illya snorted and Yuri continued. "Why do you think I tripped that line last night?"

"You're good, but you're not that good."

"Yes, well, I thought I'd try. I didn't know some of these places had sensor beams."

"The house you tried to burglarize last night was one of our own. We take care of ourselves."

"Meaning?"

"I designed the system."

Yuri snapped his fingers. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Didn't you think it odd that there were no safeguards in place?"

Yuri sighed. "This is one of your places, isn't it?" Illya nodded. "Am I under arrest?"

Illya let his head drop and his chest heaved with the size of his sigh. "No, just get out, but first, leave that." He gestured to the jewels. "Considering the homes you were hitting, I suspect you have enough to last you for a while, but why here?"

Yuri emptied his pockets upon the table in front of him. "Papa is in town and I came along for the ride. I got bored."

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. Private jet."

"Make sure you are on it or the next time I will arrest you." Illya pointed to a door. "Now, go."

"Thanks, Illyusha. Don't be a stranger the next time you are home. We miss you."

Illya's glare softened. "Say hello to your mother and father for me."

"I will." He began to leave and Illya's voice stopped him."

"Yuri."

He turned and Illya tossed him the necklace. "Give it to your mother."

He caught it one handed and tucked it away. "Of course, Cousin." And he was gone. Illya smiled as his watched his cousin leave. He knew his aunt would never see that necklace, but he also knew Yuri was in for a rude awakening when he discovered all that glittered was not gold and jewels, but pot metal and paste. Perhaps then he'd let her have it.

Napoleon squinted at the number on the ticket and then down at the row number. It was hard to see as the lights were beginning to lower. Then he spotted Mr. and Mrs. Waverly and quickly maneuvered his way to them.

"We were beginning to fear you'd miss the overture," Mrs. Waverly whispered. Her eyes were sparkling with delight. "Imagine Mr. Kuryakin performing in an orchestra."

"I'm still at a loss as to why he was being so secretive about it." Mr. Waverly was studying the program. "The Thieving Magpie. I enjoy that piece very much, but there is very little of Rossini that I don't enjoy."

Napoleon knew why. Illya had finally confessed to him that he'd tried out and been accepted as a substitute by a nationally-acclaimed orchestra and had been busy rehearsing with them. Illya hadn't wanted to say anything earlier because he was worried about his own skill and whether or not he'd actually be able to perform when the time came. Bringing music back into his life after a long absence had brightened Illya's mood and made him realize how gray his life had become. It certainly was a change, although Napoleon was still not so sure about it all.

He still had an inkling that Illya had something to do with that whole cat burglar thing. One of these days, he'd get the Russian to admit to the whole story, but for now, his partner was back, his city was at peace, or as much as New York would ever be, and all was right with his world.

The lights went down, the conductor's baton went up and Napoleon, his eyes never straying from his partner on stage, let himself be swept away.


End file.
